


Christmas Belle

by Dawnwind



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Christmas Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 05:19:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3162701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dawnwind/pseuds/Dawnwind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Starsky and Hutch have to assist with a birth in the middle of a dirty alley on December 25th.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas Belle

Christmas Belle  
By Dawnwind

“Reports of screaming in the vicinity of 7th and Cabrillo, near the old theatre,” Mildred from dispatch called over the radio.

“We’ll respond,” Hutch told her, glancing over at Starsky. “One more before we log out for the night. Could be someone in trouble.”

“You softie.” Starsky groaned. He’d been hoping for a midnight snack, maybe spiked ‘nog and some of that creamy cheese studded with cranberries on a slice of sourdough. He’d told Hutch the cheese looked weird. Hadn’t admitted that it tasted devine. Another hour until he and Hutch could turn out the lights at Venice Place and spend some holiday time together.

They both heard the unearthly howl of pain as Hutch opened the car door. “I’ll go around the theatre, you try the alley?” Hutch suggested.

Setting the brake, Starsky tried to think of a reason not to separate but Hutch’s plan made sense. He watched his partner walk past the abandoned ticket booth and over to the darkened corner of the building. Getting out of the Torino, Starsky headed into the alley on the right. A single streetlamp provided enough light so he didn’t trip over his own feet or the trash littered over the pavement.

The moment he saw her, pregnant and alone, Starsky’s heart sank. Really? What were the odds of finding her, ready to deliver on this of all nights? He recognized her, of course. Had seen her hanging out on street corners and in dark alleys for the last year. Couldn’t remember her name.

Blue eyes looked up at him, pleading for relief. She let out an agonized shriek, her distended belly rippling with the labor pain. 

Starsky went to his knees, frantically trying to recall what he knew about birth. Clearly it hurt, but wasn’t the rest mostly a natural process? He reached out to stroke her head but she recoiled with a snarl, all teeth.

Ah, so this was going to be even more difficult than he’d imagined. Where was Hutch? He was the one who always remembered obscure medical facts and could handle himself in a crisis. Starsky was never more glad to see his partner come from around the back of the theatre. “Hutch!”

“It’s Belle!” Hutch exclaimed, squatting down to see her more clearly. “What did you do to yourself, beautiful?”

She screamed, bearing down as another contraction hit. Hutch’s eyes widened.

“What’re we supposed to do?” Starsky asked, appalled. Shouldn’t there be water boiling or something? The time for calling an ambulance seemed to have past because he could see a tiny head appearing between her legs.  
Hutch reached forward, seeming to operate on instinct, and guided the delicate baby out of the birth canal. As if by magic, a second body began to emerge as Hutch was wiping slimy stuff from the first baby’s eyes and settling him beside his mother.

Belle cried out once, but cuddled her first born close, nuzzling his ear.

“Twins?” Starsky asked in amazement, copying Hutch’s actions with the second. 

“There are likely to be more,” Hutch said, his brows pulled together in concentration. “We need a box or something to put them in. Belle’s getting tired, but mother nature mostly does the rest.”

Tucking number two beside his brother, Starsky scrambled to his feet, glad to have something to do. He’d never thought much about cats. “H-how many?” he asked, filled with awe at this miracle on such an auspicious night. 

“Four, maybe five,” Hutch said distractedly, watching Belle closely. 

She shuddered, grunting and delivered a third kitten. This baby was lively, shoving her way out of the womb and pushing up between her brothers with a determined air.

“Five?” Starsky repeated, grabbing a big box marked _Kellogg’s_ on the side out of a dumpster. Five kittens? What would he do with six cats? It was only then that he realized he’d already decided to take the brood to his house. Or Hutch’s. 

Technically, there were more people around Hutch’s home to look out for the cats if he and Hutch were working odd hours. Helene from the restaurant downstairs and her chef Laurent loved animals, even hosted a charity event for the humane society every year. They’d feed Belle and the babies. Then there was Mrs. O’Shaunessy, all of 89 years young, across the landing from Hutch. She already had a yappy ball of white fur with sharp teeth and an elderly cat with a raspy miow. She’d surely be happy to look in on the three—no, make that four—kittens. 

Starsky watched as a black and white bundle tumbled out of mama. All the other kittens had looked quite similar to their Siamese mother with creamy fur and slightly brownish ears. This one was as different as the Torino was from Hutch’s beater. Well, far prettier than the beater, but the analogy was sound. 

Hutch chuckled when the tuxedo kitten mewed shrilly and nosed in between his siblings. “Ah, you’ve been around, haven’t you, Belle?”

Belle, her belly now deflated, made a rude sounding remark, licking her babies with motherly attention.

“Whadda ya mean?” Starsky asked shivering. This might be Southern California but it was still near to freezing. 

As if to illustrate the point, a chill wind swept down the narrow alley. Far too cold for newborn kittens.

“Each time a Tom—uh, mates with the queen,” Hutch said delicately, but with a raunchy movement of his forefinger into the hole made by his left thumb and finger. “He creates a single kitten. Assumedly, Belle had relations with a Tom with similar markings to her own…” He waved his pointy finger at the first three kits.

“Three times.” Starsky could count.

“And a second guy came sniffing around the same night.” Hutch gently touched the fourth kitten on the top of his head. 

Belle bared her teeth with a low growl. 

“We need to get her out of here. It’s too cold,” Starsky said firmly, although her canines—if that was what a cat’s teeth were called—looked mighty sharp.

“You get behind her,” Hutch instructed. “Grab Belle and I’ll dump the kittens into the box all at the same time.”

Good ol’ Hutch, he was taking the riskier end. Where teeth might be involved, teeth that could sink into his unblemished flesh. Starsky grinned thankfully, setting the box right next to the brand new family. 

As usual, he and Hutch worked in perfect tandem. Starsky grabbed Belle around the middle, tipping her head first into the box. She squawked, an inhuman yowl of outrage, whipping around in his hands with lightning speed. Luckily, Hutch already had two kittens practically on top of mama before she made contact with Starsky’s arteries. Occupied with arranging her babes so they had room to suckle at her teats, she settled into the cereal box with remarkably little protest. Kittens three and four grappled for their spots to nurse, tiny mews accompanying the lusty sucking.

“There must be an emergency vet we can take them to,” Hutch said, wiping his bloody fingers on a handkerchief.

“But—“ Starsky stopped. “I thought we could…keep them,” he finished very softly, staring down at the squirming pile of felines. The triplets were like a single cream colored mass with far too many legs, but the black and white one was pushed to one side, just under Belle’s chin.

“Keep them?” Hutch echoed, something both stern and yet fond in his voice. “Starsk, you’re the one who told Larry that we couldn’t keep the kittens he named after us.”

“I know.” Starsky chanced stroking the tuxedo kitten’s sleek little head. His fur was still damp, but beginning to fluff out like a dandelion gone to seed. “And you agreed, but—it’s Christmas. How can you put these babies in a shelter? Cast them out in the cold?”

“You’re contradicting yourself,” Hutch said, a trifle wearily. “They’d be nice and warm in a shelter.”

“They’re better’n an ant farm,” Starsky wheedled, imagining the kits romping around under the Christmas tree. “Won’t invade your cabinets.” He hesitated before using the most powerful weapon. “You never give me what I ask for.”

“Underhanded, dirty…” Hutch grimaced, poking that infamous finger at Starsky’s chest. He sighed, glancing down at the incredibly adorable sight of Mama Belle surrounded by four mewling kits. “There’s four of them! Five counting Belle.”

“I’ll clean the –uh, litter box!” Starsky vowed. 

“We don’t have anything to feed Belle. She needs her strength.” Hutch was holding out far longer than Starsky expected.

“Mrs. O’Shaunessy has that old cat—“

“Clarice.”

“Clarice.” Starsky grabbed onto the hint that Hutch was weakening. “She must have food, and she’s a good soul, you said so yourself. Mrs. O’Shaunessy will lend us a can until the store opens.”

Hutch carefully put out a hand to Belle. She lifted her head from watching the babies nurse and licked his thumb in thanks. Hutch melted into a puddle of peace and goodwill to men right in front of Starsky’s eyes. 

He still managed a last gasp protest. “Despite their auspicious birth, we are not naming them Jesus, Mary, Joseph and—“ Hutch trailed off, clearly searching for another comparable name. “Rudolph!”

“’Course not!” Starsky grinned, leaning over to give Hutch a peck on the cheek. He deserved much more but that could wait until they had eggnog and cranberry cheese. “He’s not the messiah we’ve been looking for,” he deliberately misquoted Star Wars. “Besides, that one is Rudolph.” Starsky pointed to one of the triplets with a very pink nose.

“I’ll concede on that,” Hutch said archly, picking up the box to carry to the Torino. “Have you already named the others, too?”

“Sure.” Starsky ticked off on his fingers. “Holly for the little girl and Snowflake for the lightest colored one.”

“And you call me the softy,” Hutch said out of the side of his mouth.

Starsky opened the car door, helping Hutch maneuver the box into the back seat. Belle seemed to be asleep, four babies curled between her four paws. “That one is Penguin,” Starsky said happily. “Merry Christmas, Hutch.”

“Right back at you.” Hutch pulled Starsky into his arms, kissing him properly. “I always did want kids.”

The End


End file.
